


If Tomorrow Comes

by missema



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Children's Stories, Death, Demons, Drabble Collection, Dragon Age Kiss Battle, Drinking, F/M, Family, Ferelden, Gen, Grey Wardens, Heroes, Historical Prompt Bingo, Kirkwall, Kiss Battle, Married Couple, Married Life, Multi, Nobility, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Prayer, Prompt Fic, Rivalry, Royalty, Slice of Life, Trust, landsmeet, short fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 06:13:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 7,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missema/pseuds/missema
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of dragon age drabbles from assorted places that are too short to stand alone.  Each chapter name has pairing and rating.</p><p>Ratings of stories are usually T or G.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Hard Mercy - Bethany/Nathaniel - T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the prompt  
> Bethany/Nathaniel  
> When the dust settles

Bethany stood atop the hill, nearly wiped out from her efforts. She wanted to turn her back on the sight of it, the fire that burned what was once a village full of people, a place that reminded her too much of Lothering, but she stood steady. Outwardly she must look calm, though her hands shook from the drain on her mana, and every limb throbbed with fatigue. The ash was so thick that it started to hang low in dark, choking clouds like a menacing warning to anyone poor traveler off in the distance thinking to seek refuge: go elsewhere. There was nothing left here.

The fire was of her own making, and Nathaniel stood to her side, shooting his arrows at anyone that tried run from the flames. Again and again she heard him draw an arrow from the quiver and then ready it, aiming for a target with narrowed eyes. He would always hit them, the distant cry of death echoed up to them as he worked with terrible accuracy.

"Is it always like this?" She asks, and her voice is smaller than she would like it to be. One day she may live up to this uniform, but that day is not today.

"No. This place was one of the worst I've seen outside of the Blighted lands in Ferelden. Whatever magicks were worked here to make these people think that the spawn were their gods - no, Bethany, this is one of the worst." He said solemnly. "It is a mercy, what we do."

She couldn't hold in her sob then, but she understood the logic. It was oddly comforting, though not in the way he meant it to be. It was something that she could hear her sister or Isabela saying, in that strangely pragmatic way of theirs. She supposed it was a way of looking at the world that she never mastered, the way that allowed her sister to become Champion of Kirkwall and Isabela to be a fearsome pirate.

She wasn't sure when the arrows stopped flying, but Nathaniel's grip on his bow eased and they were reduced to simply watching the slow burn of the town below. When she reached over and took his hand, he didn't shy away. She thought he might, for a moment, but instead he pulled her hand up to his lips and kissed it. His lips were chapped against the soft skin on the back of her hand, but his kiss was feather light and gentle.

"My lady." Nathaniel said when she looked over at him. Bethany felt her cheeks flood with color but she didn't let go of his hand. Even when their clasped hands dropped down to their sides again, she held on still, as if he might disappear too. When they were done here, she would see to it that they had a proper kiss, someplace away from the death and ash and dust that they'd brought to this place.


	2. Sunrise - Leliana/Male Cousland - T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the prompt  
> Leliana/Warden - Victory

He might have been king, her love. All their adventures could have come to a halt so he could wear a crown and have dominion over Ferelden, to become the kind of leader her was raised to be before a duty of blood ruled overrode his heritage. It had been in his grasp both before and after the Battle of Denerim, though he professed to never want power. Leliana knew that it could have been such, and thus gave thanks every day that their paths, however winding, had led someplace different.

This day was no exception, dawning bright and wide in a sky unfettered by buildings or clouds. The two of them were at the foot of a mountain in a land that she knew only from maps and songs. Well, it was three if they counted the dog, and somehow the dog never failed to make himself count.

Each day with him, this warden, this man, this lost Cousland scion was a victory to her. They have more than love, he is like the silence betwixt each beat of her heart, a role so crucial that she can't live without it. He is the hero in every ballad she pens, but also its melody and rhythm as she sketches her hands across her lute and gives voice to his song. Her feelings would lie and say that no one could love more, or harder or more passionately than they did, but the world was full of stories like theirs and she sang them to his ears as they fell asleep at night. She was just glad to continue hers for as long as she could.

But that matters not this morning, they are alive with the sun shining down on them, though he is not awake. She leans over to where he sleeps in their shared bedroll and kisses him softly. First on each closed eyelid, the softest part of his face apart from his lips, then on the tip of his oft-broken nose and finally onto his lips. 

He catches her by surprise on her last kiss, returning it with the kind of ardor that belongs only to the early morning, driven by sleep and unfettered by self-consciousness or concern. She feels him smile against her mouth as she presses harder into his lips. His large hand catches in her short hair, pulling her closer until there is no more air between them and they come apart.

"Good morning." He says as she pulls away. His sleep roughened voice rumbles through him, and he only opens one eye a crack to look at her. "Any special reason for the warm wake up?" He asks. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you."

Leliana looks out at the horizon and sighs, but it is a sound of contentment rather than frustration. "It is a beautiful day, and we are together. Is that not reason enough?"

He covers her hand with his and smiles up at her, both eyes open now. "Still celebrating the small victories, are we?"

"Always." Leliana says softly, once and again, repeating it in her heart. "Always."


	3. Pride's Best Offer - Isabela & Pride Demon - T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt  
> pride demon/isabela - another choice

The demon was speaking to her, but Isabela wasn't listening. "Come now, Pirate Queen, you cannot let yourself be disgraced."

"Oh yes I can, if I want to." Isabela replied. "Shoo now, go away. Don't you have a nice desire demon to send instead? She's always a better choice. At least she knows to offer me a boat."

The demon in front of her vanished in a puff of smoke.

"Amateur hour, I swear." She muttered to herself.


	4. Firelight - Leske & Bryce Cousland - T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bryce cousland/leske - in front of a roaring fire

"What is this place?" Bryce Cousland's head was fuzzy, and he couldn't get his bearings. The words were barely more than a mumble, and he got no reply anyway.

On hands and knees he pulled himself to a roaring fire, but found that he wasn't the only one seated around it. There was a dwarf, a man sitting there in front of it, warming his hands.

"Who are you?" Bryce asked again, confused. This man did not seem like one of the smiths in Castle Cousland, and his face was unfamiliar.

"Me? I'm just Leske." The dwarf replied. "You must be dead too, salroka. Can't think of any other reason why you'd be here with me."

"Dead?" Bryce asked himself, but it made sense. He had been in the larder with Eleanor when footsteps grow closer and he felt her leave his side to string her bow. The ground had been so cold before that, but then he had grown warm all over. His last thought was that it might be shock, but he supposed now that it had been death claiming his wounded body.

"You got someone you're waiting on?" The dwarf asked, and Bryce nodded. He would be here to talk to his daughter, if she needed him. 

"Me too. Guess that's what this place is, a waiting spot. At least there's a nice fire while we wait." Leske said to him, one hand out to gesture at the space where Bryce could join him.

For the first time since he'd ordered his son to leave Highever without him, Bryce Cousland smiled.


	5. Alone - Merrill & Morrigan - T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> merrill/morrigan - another choice

The Dalish woman was an exile, whereas Morrigan simply wanted to live her life away from others. People still confused her, and though she knew herself and what she needed to do, she had no way of knowing that living among people might aid her. She only knew how to rely on her own strength and thoughts, so that is what she did.

So it is a surprise when the Dalish woman continues to come to her hut and brings her things. At first it was simply news and warnings, but other times there are small things, gifts of baked food or small trinkets for the babe.

"Why do you come here? Did you not move away looking for privacy and freedom for templars?" Morrigan asked her one day. She is not mad at the visits, in fact it is a small relief in her day, but she is curious about why they continue.

"Would you rather I didn't bother you?" Merrill asked, her voice already filled with the fear of an oncoming dismissal.

"No, do as you will. Your presence reminds me of traveling with others, and besides Alistair and the Chantry sister, the experience was not unpleasant."

Merrill is cheered by this, and stops for a moment to think about why she does come around. Slowly, she voices it. "I know what it's like to be alone, though not with a child. I just wanted you to know that there is another choice. A not quite so lonely one."

Morrigan nodded but didn't speak. For the first time since her Warden had gone, she thought she might have made a friend.


	6. Tease - Merrill/Isabela - M (ish)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabela can't decide if Merrill is telling the truth or not, but she likes the story.

Isabela wondered about Merrill, because the Dalish were different from most humans and Kirkwall was no wonderful place to see the best of humanity. The reasons she liked Kirkwall, the loud, dirty, filthy side of it at least, were exactly the kinds of things that could trip you up if you're experience with society had been mostly staring them down from behind a Dalish bow.

"A city, all these people in close proximity, it must be all new for you." Isabela commented.

"Oh yes, but it's so exciting. More's happened here in the past few weeks than did in years with the clan."

"Exciting isn't the word I'd pick, but I can understand it." Isabela had been thinking more along the lines of chaotic and on the verge of collapsing. "How are you adjusting to it all?"

"I'm fine, I think. I like it here, so many things to see and people to meet. I do miss the clan sometimes, but mostly..." She trailed off, looking over her shoulder.

"What is it?"

Merrill leaned closer and spoke in a whisper "I don't know if it's right to mention it here. In the clan we hardly ever spoke of it amongst elders." Isabela wasn't sure what was going on, and for a moment her pride was about to take the hit before she noticed Merrill eyeing a man with hair and skin more grey than anything resembling flesh should be, hunched over a tankard.

"I doubt he could hear us if he wanted." Isabela said with a small laugh of relief. "Anyway, go on."

"Oh, it was nothing." Merrill said wistfully. "I miss everything, even the end sometimes. They hated me, but I was still one of them. Talanth was so angry, he used come at night and yell at me until we went off into the bushes to have it out." She shivered. "It was better once he was angry. Before, we never had any real spark, and he was all hands."

"Was he?" Isabela asked, her eyebrow raised at Merrill. The other woman blushed fiercely and Isabela took a swig, averting her eyes enough to let the heated skin cool before she asked her question. "Are you teasing me, kitten?"

"Maybe a little." Merrill's mouth curved into a small smile as she took a drink from her tankard, which immediately blocked her tiny mouth from view. The rest of her words came with the hollow echo of a cup being emptied. "But maybe not."


	7. Felsi & Sebastian Vale - Haunted - T

There is a man at the Spoiled Princess, and he's only there to drink. Felsi's seen that look too many times before, the hard look of anger and regret mingling together inside of a person. His face is stony as he orders an ale, then another, and a third until he's had so many that he's gone from smoldering, impotent rage to maudlin. 

She wouldn't approach him if she didn't have to, but when is mug is empty yet again, Felsi goes over to him. When she reaches out to take the mug, his face snaps towards hers and she's met by the blazing blue of his eyes.

He has eyes that are both empty and strangely full at the same time. Shadows that have nothing to do with drink lurk there. She's only seen eyes like that on the templars that survived the abominations in the tower. There are ghosts in his eyes, the restless, rolling kind that drive people to ruin trying to exorcise them.

She is dwarva and doesn't believe in ghosts anyway, and takes the mug away from him. "Your room is ready, ser." She says firmly and points towards the stairs.


	8. Shelter - Queen Rowan & Ser Cauthrien - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Queen Rowan and Ser Cauthrien  
> Shelter in a different form

The rain lashed at their small house, and Cauthrien looked out the window, hoping for her mother to come back soon. She was the healer in their small village, because they didn't have a proper Chantry and her mother was the closest thing they had to a healer without being a mage. She was a midwife and alchemist, and with the help of the blacksmith could set bones should the need arise. 

Cauthrien had no doubt of her mother's ability to heal, but getting home that night was a different matter. The rains were nonstop at this time of year, in their small village outlying Gwaren, and it grew late.

Her father was worried too, but he tried not to show it as best he could. She knew because he stirred the stew too often and made a show of not looking out the window, like he couldn't bear to face its reality.

"Tell me a story, Papa." She said, trying to distract both of them from their fruitless worry and wait game.

Her father smiled at her and asked, "Which one would you like to hear?"

"Tell me of the Queen." Cauthrien said quickly, picking out her favorite story of the bunch. It was her favorite because it was true, or at least, it could be, since it was about Ferelden's queen.

Her father unfolded the story in front of her, telling her about fearless Queen Rowan who was part of the Resistance and drove the Orlesians from Ferelden. He told of her bravery in battle, her beauty and of her incredible strength. She sat enraptured as he got to the part where loyal, strong Rowan married Maric the Savior after they forced the Orlesians from Ferelden, with the help of General Loghain.

The storm outside their window and her absent mother weren't forgotten, but they'd taken refuge with Queen, who could protect them from all that might cause harm on that night.


	9. A Hero's Voice - Lady Elegant & F!Mahariel - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady Elegant/F!Mahariel  
> The sound of your voice

Elegant was standing in her usual spot in Lowtown, the dust of the day gathered upon her fine dress as the sun set. She had little to show for all her work that day, but it wasn't surprising. Very few people needed her brand of healing when Anders was still in the sewers offering magic for free, and her potions and remedies weren't poisons to be used to fell a foe.

Still, she did enough business, enough that she could go home and take one day, her only day, away from the stall tomorrow. She was thinking on what she might do then, of the chores lined up for her already, the reagents she needed to turn into products when a shadow over her halted her thoughts.

"Are you still open? I have need of your products." A woman's voice said.

By the sound of it, she was definitely an elf, though Elegant thought she heard a little bit of a Ferelden cadence mixed into a Dalish accent. When she straightened and looked at the woman, she found she was most definitely Dalish, and looked plenty menacing. The stern seriousness of her face didn't match the soft lilt of her voice, of two cultures merged into one, blending harmoniously in her words. Behind her was a large man with a goofy grin in Grey Warden armor, and Lady Elegant grinned up at the woman she was sure was a Warden as well, even if her armor looked to dragonscale instead of warden issue. A Dalish Warden, at her stall! She'd only ever heard of one Dalish Warden. THE Warden.

"You've caught me at just the right time. I wasn't ready to leave yet, Warden." Lady Elegant replied smoothly and she smiled at both wardens in front of her. 

Their transaction was over quickly, but Elegant's purse was a great deal heavier when she went home to meet her man. At dinner, he listened to her story carefully, short as it was and sat back.

"You're sure it was her?" He asked.

"Could there be many more Dalish Wardens in cities?" She challenged. "A woman that sounds Fereldan as much as Dalish? Trust me, even if I hadn't realized who she was at first glance, the sound of her voice would have done it for me."

Her husband leaned back in his chair and smiled at her. "So you've met a real life hero?"

Elegant grinned, "Probably more than just the one." She answered, thinking back on the other Warden behind the woman she grew increasingly sure was the Hero of Ferelden.


	10. In the Heather - F!Hawke/Sebastian - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kiss battle prompt for Hawke/Sebastian, prayer.

Since they'd come to Starkhaven, all of their plans had changed. They were not at the head of a conquering army nor had they been able to push the usurper off the throne. Instead they were honored guests while they made their claims, with most of the nobility in a protracted catfight for the throne. The Chantry mediated for them, as much as they could in such times of turmoil. She knew it was never going to be as easy as they'd hoped, but there was more resistance then either of them had anticipated.

She did not miss Kirkwall, but Sebastian did. He found no refuge in the the Chantry here, which was too much like the one in Kirkwall, and yet not enough like it for him to feel peaceful. The rolling hills and natural grandeur of the landscape brought him more solace than he could find in any building, and she often found him praying in the fields of heather that bordered the estate where they stayed.

His head was just discernible over the stalks of flowering purple that covered the land, and Hawke headed towards him. She didn't pray, not because she didn't believe, but because without Bethany by her side her words felt hollow and sad. On rare days she sang the Chant with Sebastian, but those days had been few in number since they'd reached Starkhaven. The soft purr of his voice reached her as she approached, and she found herself mouthing the words along with him. 

"Maker, though the darkness comes upon me,  
I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm.  
I shall endure.  
What you have created, no one can tear asunder."

When Sebastian finished, she was kneeling next to him. Not praying, but silent and respectful as he finished his own prayers. He smiled at her, a weak and weary smile, too worn around the edges for her liking. She resettled herself to keep her balance and reached out to bring his steepled hands to her lips. Hawke kissed the tips of his calloused fingers and when he opened his hand to cup her face, she pressed a kiss on the inside of his palm. These hands meant so much to her; they held her when she was ill, pulled her up when she fell, had brought her food when she could not get her own. The man to whom they belonged was her greatest joy in a bleak world.

"Is it time?" he asked.

"Not yet. We can sit for a little while." 

"How about a short walk instead? I'm losing the feeling in my knees."

Hawke laughed, the sound rusty in her throat. She held out her hand for him to take, and he kissed the inside of her gloved palm as well before lacing his fingers through hers. She smiled but said nothing, leaning on his side as they walked through the heather fields.


	11. Trust - Hawke/Merrill - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a prompt by jillyfae - Hawke/Merrill, things you didn’t say at all or things you said under the stars and in the grass. I chose to do both.

“I trust you,” Merrill said, not looking at Hawke but out at the sea as the words left her lips. She sat in the scrub grass near the very edge of a cliff, letting her legs dangle off the side. The slight breeze off the water below gently pushed the short strands of her hair from her forehead.

“All those years ago, Keeper said that shemlen weren’t to be trusted, and I believed her. I had no reason not to, even after we’d met. But I trust you.” 

She looked out towards Kirkwall, at the ash darkened sky that hovered ominously above the city they’d fled just hours before. It was visible even at night, through the stars and natural darkness, an inkblot void over Hightown. Merrill shuddered and turned her gaze away.

“Still?” Hawke asked, and sat down heavily beside her. It was like Hawke never expected to get up again. 

There was a weariness in every movement that couldn’t be hidden. All of their group wore a fatigue that had little do with the battle they’d fought and more to do with all that had been lost in Kirkwall, but Hawke was particularly defeated. Now Merrill was almost afraid that they were going to give up completely and let themselves roll right off the edge and into the Waking Sea.

“Always. This wasn’t your fault, Hawke, you have to remember that.”

Hawke said nothing, and Merrill couldn’t think of anything more to add. She left them there with a pat on the head, wondering how the morning would go. It was only when they parted ways that she realized Hawke had never said the same of her, not in all the years they’d known each other.


	12. Inelegant - F!Hawke/Isabela - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For runawaydragons who wanted to see the prompt:  
> you broke off your engagement with your long-time boyfriend/girlfriend who you were supposed to bring home to meet your family so now you need me to pretend to be them

“No one’s really going to believe that we’re engaged, sweet thing,” Isabela said idly, even as she stood outside the Amell estate dressed for dinner.

Hawke shrugged. “I can’t see why not, unless you tell them.”

“It’s not me. Haven’t you been telling them all these wonderful tales of your former beloved? When they can’t reconcile the stories with what they see, they’re going to come ask you questions.”

Hawke almost shrugged again, but didn’t. The thought hadn’t occured to her before, but it wasn’t really a problem. “I don’t care. We can break up because of it. Dramatically, just later. Now, you’re just Elegant, or rather, that’s your nickname. Because ‘Thank the Maker that’s not her real name.’

“Right, right, I remember,” Isabela said, vaguely recalling the preparatory conversation they had about this dinner. “At least you got the ring back, otherwise I wouldn’t have such a pretty little thing to wear with this dress.” The ring did suit her, an infinity band of barely visible gold with diamonds set all the way around it. It glittered against the white dress Isabela wore.

Before they could discuss anything more, the heavy doors of the Amell estate creaked open on protesting hinges. Hawke looked down and as expected and met the gaze of Bodahn, as he let her in.

“Messere Hawke. I am so very pleased to see you again. Your mother is most excited to greet you and your companion,” Bodahn said.

“Bodahn, this is Isabela,” Hawke barely got the name out before Isabela swept forward. Her gown a billow of ivory silk behind her, clinging beautifully to all of her curves. Hawke couldn’t help but admire her, though her heart ached too much to do more than appreciate the beauty of her friend.

“Cap — I mean, Lady Isabela, her fiancé, at your service.” Isabela finished for her, winking at Bodahn. The man took the wink in stride and gave Isabela a bland smile.

“Right this way, ladies.”

Isabela’s entrance into Mother’s dinner caused a stir, but the nobility lived for such situations and scandals. All eyes were on them as they were introduced, but Leandra seemed satisfied with their presence. At least, she didn’t start off by questioning Isabela overmuch, not before dinner. Of all those that were in attendance, even of those that stared lasciviously at Isabela and whispered, it was only Bethany that came up to her sister to talk about her ‘fiancé’.

“Sister, I know that isn’t Elegant. I buy ingredients for my potions from her in Lowtown, and she’s been gone for the past two days. Why did you bring someone else instead?”

“We broke up. Mother kept going on about meeting her, and I couldn’t get up the nerve to tell her right before we were supposed to show up. It…I don’t know.” She shrugged. There was no way she could put the way it would have felt, the compounding of so many years of social failures, into words. Hawke went on, still whispering “so Isabela wanted to help, and it seemed easier at the time.” Bethany gave her a dubious look and shook her head.

“Alright, I know how Mother can be. I’ll keep your secret for now, but you’ve got to explain all to me later,” Bethany said. There might have been more, but she broke off at the sound of Isabela’s loud laughter coming from the other side of the room. 

Carver had apparently taken a liking to the woman, and it didn’t matter if she was supposed to be engaged to his sister or not. Isabela was grinning at Hawke’s brother over a goblet of wine, and Carver was red-faced, but smiling back. At the sound of the laughter, Leandra started to move towards the pair, but was waylaid by another of her guests, a young man that might have been a date for Bethany, but hadn’t been introduced properly yet. Both Hawke and Bethany sighed. It was going to be a long night.


	13. Another Life - F!Trevelyan/Cullen - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In another life where Cullen left the templars after the Blight and Phedre Trevelyan ran from the Circle instead of going to the Conclave. She meets Mia Rutherford, and cautiously befriends her as she's beginning a new life in South Reach.

Phedre stopped running in a dinky little hamlet in Ferelden called South Reach. It didn't have much to distinguish it, save for a bunch of folks that wanted nothing but quiet after the Blight. It wasn't where she'd intended to end up after she fled the Free Marches, but then again, she hadn't much of a plan back then.

It wasn't a hard place to be, if she was honest. Life in Ferelden was simple, and as long as she didn't do any magic, no one bothered her. It was a good thing that she had some potion brewing skill to fall back on, otherwise she would have needed to learn how to support herself.

After a month at the inn, she met a woman named Mia, the town seamstress. Though a little older than Phedre, Mia was the first person close in age that she'd done more than exchange greetings with in ages. Mia made Phedre realize how much she missed having a friend. It was her friendship that helped Phedre settle in, and her knowledge of the village that found her a nearby cabin that needed some attention and an inhabitant.

Mia was her lifeline, the first friend she'd dared make since fleeing the Circle in Ostwick. Her parents and family had helped her, and for their sake, she only maintained scant contact. But she worried that she was putting even more people in danger by being close to them. Mia wouldn't be deterred in her friendship and insisted that Phedre let her make a new work dress, even if she couldn't pay for it in full right away.

"My brothers will be there be around, they always are. Plus you can meet my sister Rosalie. She's just started training with the town midwife. She'll be interested in your potions," Mia said.

So Phedre was convinced, by both the lure of a new dress and dinner with a family. The Rutherford's were close, brought closer still by the loss of their parents during the Blight. When she got to Mia's house, all was well as let her friend chatter and work, standing her on a block to measure her for the dress.

"Mia, I've brought up more firewood. We're supposed to get snow..." the voice trailed off and Phedre looked up to see a man in the room with them. 

"Thanks, Cull. This is Phedre. She's the one who just settled into the old cabin near the stream. You're supposed to fix the door for her," Mia said through a mouthful of pins.

He looked like Mia, mostly around the nose and mouth, and she'd mentioned brothers so Phedre supposed this was one of them. He was fairer than his sister, tall and bulky but handsome. Very handsome. Phedre felt herself smiling at him before she realized it, and he was smiling back at her. Mia rolled her eyes and kept pinning around Phedre's waist. 

When neither of them spoke, Mia's muffled voice finished the introduction, "Phedre, this is my brother Cullen. He could do some good and get some more firewood for you to take home after dinner, since he's not fixed your door yet."

"I will," Cullen said quickly, his smile faltering. "Fix the door. Tomorrow. And get the wood. I should get that now." He started out the door and then turned back, "Nice to meet you, Phedre," he said.

"You too," Phedre said, finally managing to speak before he left. 

At her back, Mia sighed. She would have to put them next to each other at dinner. Maybe she could even get Cullen to walk her home with the firewood. They might actually have a conversation if they were left alone. At least she seemed to like him too, Cullen needed someone. She'd worried for him after he left the templars after the Blight. Something had happened to her brother that he'd never spoken of ten years back, but little by little, he'd returned to himself.

She made up her mind as Phedre started peppering her with questions about Cullen. They might actually be good for each other, and that's what Mia had been hoping for when she invited Phedre over. She just had a feeling that the newcomer was her brother's type.


	14. A Sedate Pace - F!Trevelyan/Cullen - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A kmeme prompt for a slice of life post-Inquisition. This is pretty short and general so it went here instead of on its own. It's based on Phedre Trevelyan/Cullen, but only her surname is used to keep it nonspecific enough for the meme.

Cullen always gets up before she does in the morning. Trevelyan wasn't used to early mornings, but came to enjoy them in Skyhold. Now there's no need, no one pressing for her to get up and start the day, so she sleeps later as she did in the Circle in Ostwick.

The mabari is never far from his side. When he gets up in the morning he chops wood after breakfast, the dog at his heels. Even in Kirkwall, where is Comte Rutherford, he gets up to chop their own wood. They go to Kirkwall more than he liked at first, because she needed to visit Varric.

Varric helped Trevelyan in a way no one else could. In the Circle, she never learned to bake or cook, never had to mend her own clothes. With her wooden hand, learning these things was much harder. Cullen's sister Rosalie helped her in Ferelden, ever patient and glad to be the teacher instead of the student. Little sisters were like that. But Varric helped Trevelyan have worth, and he had the right connections. She set to writing after they settled in Ferelden, dreadful horror and suspense that was mostly based on things she'd seen. With guidance, they got better and far more frightening.

There was the occasional letter, monsters here, an appeal for help, and a few times, a summons from the crown. Leliana would appear with no notice, with a new apprentice to introduce to them. She became quite the society matron, and they stayed with her whenever Orlais called for their presence. Cullen never did like the dancing, but at least she got him onto the floor. Josephine wrote often from Antiva, still the diplomat and forever their friend. Also, she sent damn good wine from the Montiliyet vineyards.

It was never simple, but it was quieter, smaller, and full of love. Cullen hated Kirkwall, but endured it for her, she hated Ostwick, but they still visited her family and they both breathed a sigh of relief when they were back in their home in Ferelden. It was good. Each day began with hugs and kissed and ended with 'I love you' whispered before the rolled over into sleep.


	15. In Name - Alistair/F!Cousland - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Cordelia Cousland (from On Birthdays) have to work around an old problem that's passed down to them.
> 
> Historical Bingo Prompt -- Rivalry of Kin

Her brother challenged his for the throne of Ferelden, but neither could finish what had once been a game between them. The Wardens came to Ferelden before the Landsmeet could be convened and the challenge answered. The dire warnings of the Commander of the Grey made them all pause and head south to Ostagar.

Fergus Cousland didn't die there, but King Cailan did. Most of the Cousland family was dead after the war, and Fergus was left to be their sole heir, whether he wanted it or not. His own son had been slaughtered with his wife, and that combined with a new king of Ferelden lessened his taste for power. Being teyrn was enough.

Cailan and Fergus had once been the best and greatest of rivals, the kind of friends only good for using as a measuring stick. They'd been boys together, raised for greatness. It was only natural that they thought themselves equals, though Fergus was never a royal, could never be royalty. It was that difference, one that came to evidence so late in their lives, that sat like a burr under the skin. Fergus couldn't get past it, and though he had no desire to kill Cailan for the throne, he could best him in combat to earn the throne. The Couslands encouraged him, helped him prepare, eager for their chance to ascend to a higher status. As far back as the Cousland name went, they'd fought Callenhad, not supported him. The lines never united.

Until Cordelia and Alistair.

Cordelia Cousland was well-acquainted with her brother's rivalry with King Cailan, even before they met at Ostagar. Where Fergus had been allowed freedom, she had not, and thus was never raised with Cailan. He was more than ten years her senior, and they might have wed, were it not for her parents keeping her away. She realized later that it wasn't to keep her from falling in love with Cailan, but to keep him from becoming infatuated with her. He'd been possessed of a fickle heart, and was promised to Teyrn Loghain's daughter Anora. To keep a simple peace, they'd kept her in Highever, only bringing her to Denerim on the rare occasion that they went as a family.

It was only proper that she was kept out of the fighting as long as possible. She could wield arms, of course, no respectable Fereldan woman couldn't, but she knew little of courtly life. That was a mystery to her, though she was damnably curious. She sat in salons and parties with her mother, listening, making notes, learning to be secretive and circumspect. Her eyes were never turned towards Denerim, where Fergus's ambitions firmly lay, but to the outlaying bannorns of Ferelden. She wanted something more than just silent power. It had been her plan to take one of the bannorns for her own, and then never marry. She wanted to be free.

Alistair was the bastard son of King Maric, whom he'd never met and was not acknowledged. Raised by slobbering dogs and occasionally Arl Eamon, he'd been sent to the Chantry where he'd had no more ambition than to not be bored to death. He was unremarkable in many ways, but he was kind and funny and practiced at hiding just how smart he was. And Cordelia loved him dearly, more than she'd ever thought possible.

They met as Wardens in the Blight, during some of the worst moments of their lives. He wanted nothing to do with the throne, and she wanted vengeance. Only one of them got what they wanted. When he took the throne, the challenge, long forgotten, was still on the books at the Landsmeet. By their rules, it should be answered by Cordelia and Alistair, who'd just announced that they would marry and rule Ferelden together. It could have been her and Anora, and she was grateful that it wasn't. The former queen looked like she was spoiling for a fight right now.

"Doesn't our union answer the challenge?" Cordelia asked. Alistair, for his part, still looked dazed at how rapidly events progressed. "It does so often in property disputes. Is it not so for us?"

"It does not answer it, unfortunately. There are numerous instances of spouses meeting in challenge," Arl Eamon said, giving her a sad half-smile. "Do you wish to answer the challenge of her kin, King Alistair?"

" _What?!_ No, I love Cordy. This is stupid," he began, but she cut him off.

"You can't forfeit, or I and by extension, Fergus, will win. Not after what we've just gone through to get you on the throne. You are King of Ferelden, Alistair. I don't want to change that," she explained.

If she forfeit, as the representative to the heir apparent to Highever, she'd have to pay recompense to the crown for the presumption. The price for such presumption was considerable, though her parents had made provisions for it, Howe had burned through the excess gold in their treasury. Highever would starve to pay for her brother's hubris. If she dueled Alistair, he would let her win and she would be queen, disrupting everything they'd just worked for. Anora would be free to restate her claims as well, because they'd no longer be going by the righteousness of blood and birth, but by noble challenge. Anora was of the nobility, and thus able to call for a challenge. On the other hand, if the dueled Alistair, he would never win unless she dropped her weapon, which was the same as a forfeit. If she let him win, Fergus could still re-challenge under his own power, when he was well enough, and satisfaction would fall directly on her to pay to the crown for taking up the duel. She'd already given him her hand in marriage, she had nothing else to her name.

Her name.

"Of all the ridiculous customs!" Alistair was shouting now, and Arl Eamon was doing a really good job of enduring it. He just stood there, arms crossed over his illness-shrunken chest, looking calm as Alistair ranted on. The onlookers in the galleries ranged between looking amused, horrified and bored. The Grand Cleric looked the most amused by all, and Cordelia wondered if that was the woman that had refused to let Alistair go to the Wardens, necessitating his conscription. It probably was.

"It's our way, Alistair. And I know how to get out of it," she muttered, just for his hearing. "Forgive me, Mother, Father."

"I am not kin to Fergus Cousland, teyrn of Highever," Cordelia said, announcing it to the Landsmeet at large. "I am a Grey Warden, and my titles are forsaken, as are my connections. When I marry, I will take the name of my husband, who will be crowned King of Ferelden, and no other title or connection will I bring into our marriage."

"Cordy, _no_ ," Alistair began, but she didn't listen, he couldn't stop this though she loved him for trying. He knew what it meant to her to give up her family, but the words were spoken and could not be taken back. They locked eyes and she felt him asking her if there was no other way, but she couldn't think of one. She shook her head at him and went on, employing the formal style. She dropped to her knees before him.

"When our ancestors came down from the mountains to settle upon this land, they affirmed us our sovereign rights. We are Fereldan, we are free, and we govern ourselves. I, Cordelia Rosamund Mac Eanraig Cousland, renounce my names and titles going forward, until the throne of Ferelden sees fit to restore them or grant new ones. I am Cordelia, of the Grey Wardens and no one else."

"It is witnessed," chorused a drone of voices from the balconies and on the floor before her.

"It is accepted," Alistair answered, his voice steady and clear. He was the king she knew he'd become, but still the same man she loved, as he reached out a hand to help her up. With no more Couslands around, there was no one to stand for Fergus. If he wanted to fight Alistair himself, well, they would deal with that later. Now, she had to make sure she lived long enough to get married and restore her own name.

Cordelia rose, and Alistair guided her from the Landsmeet. It was only when he hugged her that she let herself laugh and dotted his confused face in a flurry of kisses. She was truly just a warden now, and somehow, it felt good, not like getting her own bannorn slice of country to rule alone good, but this wasn't bad either. She was no one but a Warden now, although she was engaged to Alistair, a Warden that just happened to be king. There would be none of the ceremonies and parties -- she was now a commoner and undeserving of them. The thought renewed her relieved laughter, underscoring it with wildness. Under all that ceremony, she'd managed to free herself, just for a little while.


End file.
